Can I just say, for the record, that I thought of the above caption AGES ago, long before The Sun. I just hoped I'd never have to use it.
*UPDATE*
Yeah, so that kinda puts the knockers (pardon the pun) on my theory, as they're not getting married 'cos they're infatuated with the idea of each other, but 'cos Tennant's gone and got her knocked up. Though, if one is to look at it from that angle, I guess it shows he's trying to do the right thing [With the Wrong Woman]. Ahh, bless. Either that, or she did it on purpose to trap him... which I really hope is not true of course, David's a better judge of character than that, right? But maybe he does feel trapped. Maybe he's trying to maintain his 'I'm a good guy' star image. Maybe he's wanting to prove himself to Davison; here's a real ma that won't walked out on your daughter, Mr Fifth Doctor Sir. Or maybe he really does love this girl, and wants to spend the rest of his life with her. Hmmm, maybe. Suppose the wedding is taking place next New Year's Day (allegedly), when the child would be around 8 months old (allegedly she's 5 months preggers now), so it's not really shotgun. Close though, very close.
Oh well, I can (and will) still look. After all, Johnny Depp's got kids, and has been married - what, twice? - and I most definitely look (leer) at him. On the other hand, my theory could still be right; that Tennant and Moffett aren't made for each other, and when they realise this, I could be in with a shot. As my friend Zee said; if the shit does hit the fan, I could get Tennant, plus joint custody of his child, who we know is gonna be gorgeous, without ever having to have given birth to said child, or be involved with the icky bits of its upringing. Win win!
BW xxx
PS, watched Inception (Nolan, 2010) for the first time last night, and Loved. It. What's more, I understood it, which for me is a miracle; I don't usually 'get' films like that. The delicious Tom Hardy helped take my mind off the Tennant situation for a couple of hours too, hope he wins the Rising Star Award at this years BAFTAs. But, the Big question re Inception is, did the spinning top stop spinning? Discuss.
Showing posts with label Doctor Who. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Doctor Who. Show all posts
16/01/2011
14/01/2011
Bad Romance
So, David Tennant and Georgia Moffett are getting hitched; old news I know, but I've spent the past week rocking in the corner of my darkened room... Well, not quite,but I have been thinking about it a lot, no surprises there, and have come to the sad conclusion that this marriage Will Be A Farce; no surprises there then either huh? Now, I'm not being all bitter and twisted about this, actually screw that, I am, but that's not what's driving me here. I believe I have formed a very convincing argument as to why these two star-crossed lovers are not destined to be together, and this is it:
Let us start at the beginning, and probably finish somewhere near the end. On the 16th of November, 2007, the BBC broadcast a special episode of Doctor Who, as part of their annual Children in Need festivities. This episode, titled Time Crash, saw the 10th Doctor's TARDIS colliding with that of the fifth (Peter Davison), resulting in eight minutes of Tennant being all adoring-fanboy over his former self, even crediting him for his trademark trainers and glasses (fortunately he drew the line at wearing vegetables on his lapel), and his squeaky-when-excited voice. When Tennant utters the brilliantly moving line 'you were my Doctor', in that brilliantly moving way that only he can, you know for a fact that it is David saying these words, and that he deliberately picked up these influences and habits as tribute to his favourite Doctor. Then, lo and behold, the daughter of said idol; Georgia Moffett, appears in Doctor Who some 6 months later.
Now, if you're the daughter of The Doctor, your childhood's gonna be pretty full of Who I imagine. Particularly as the year that Moffett was born, 1984 - making her two years older than me, but I Am Not Bitter - was the year that Davison left the show, so his legacy would've been newly established, and he would still have been recognised, adored and, if my pinings for 10 are anything to go by, very sorely missed. Thus, Moffett would have soaked up all this admiration as a babe, and must have ate, slept and drank Doctor Who (no sexual connotations intended) for a fair few years. When you're that small, your pa's your hero, and if he's played an onscreen hero with two hearts for four years, worshipped by the masses (and David Tennant), then that feelings only gonna escalate. Who hasn't imagined/wished that Superman, Spiderman, Batman or whoever else-man was their dad? Moffett didn't need to imagne; her dad was, and still is by many, regarded as a legend.
For 23 years, Moffett was full of admiration for her father, The Doctor, and basked in his shiny limelight. Then in 2007 she acquired the perfect role, as The Doctor's daughter (typecasting or what?) in the imaginatively named episode, The Doctor's Daughter. Without going into the intricacies of the plot, the 10th Doctor initially pushes Jenny (Moffett) away, as he is scared to get too close in case he loses her; like he loses everyone else. However, he eventually warms to her - who knew how much - and accepts her as his own.
Right, recap time. Georgia Moffett is the daughter of the much-loved fifth Time Lord Peter Davson, and probably grew up watching endless repeats of Doctor Who, rather that the usual CBeebies, and playing with her dad's sonic screwdriver - sorry, that just sounds so wrong. She made her appearance on Doctor Who with this legacy behind her, and an innate passion for the show, and for the heroic, protective father-figure of The Doctor, who ultimately must connote feelings of security and love. Meanwhile, David Tennant, who is known to have been completely obsessed with Who since he was a wee lad, and who has based his look and performance on that of Davison, not only got to work alongside his idol in the TARDIS, but now gets the chance to work with his daughter.
The way I see it is this: Tennant loves Davison, and is honoured to work with his daughter Moffett, playing her father whom he worships. Moffett loves Davison (natch), and so automatically loves The Doctor. Moffett and Tennant both love Doctor Who, The Doctor and Davison, and I think this is what their relationship is based on. Moffett sees Tennant as like another father, helped by the fact that he is 13 years older than her. She is in love with The Doctor; with the idea of this wiser, older man looking out for her. I do believe that Moffett loves Tennant, but not in that way, rather, she loves him for what he represents; The Doctor. Her dad.
While there is arguably a certain amount of sexual attraction on Tennant's part; he has a history of liking younger women, particularly blondes *adds peroxide to shopping list*, he sees Moffett as like an extension of Davison. Tennant respects Davison to the upmost degree, and is obviously gonna project this loyalty onto Moffett, a) so as to gain mutual respect from daddy, and b) maybe because he feels he owes Davison; he did pinch bits of his act after all.
Basically then, I don't believe that Tennant and Moffett are in love with each other, but with what each other signifies. And that, my friends, is how I see it. See? Course, I could be completely wrong; maybe I've become a sceptical old bint at the grand age of 24... But I Am Not Bitter.
BW xxx
Let us start at the beginning, and probably finish somewhere near the end. On the 16th of November, 2007, the BBC broadcast a special episode of Doctor Who, as part of their annual Children in Need festivities. This episode, titled Time Crash, saw the 10th Doctor's TARDIS colliding with that of the fifth (Peter Davison), resulting in eight minutes of Tennant being all adoring-fanboy over his former self, even crediting him for his trademark trainers and glasses (fortunately he drew the line at wearing vegetables on his lapel), and his squeaky-when-excited voice. When Tennant utters the brilliantly moving line 'you were my Doctor', in that brilliantly moving way that only he can, you know for a fact that it is David saying these words, and that he deliberately picked up these influences and habits as tribute to his favourite Doctor. Then, lo and behold, the daughter of said idol; Georgia Moffett, appears in Doctor Who some 6 months later.
Now, if you're the daughter of The Doctor, your childhood's gonna be pretty full of Who I imagine. Particularly as the year that Moffett was born, 1984 - making her two years older than me, but I Am Not Bitter - was the year that Davison left the show, so his legacy would've been newly established, and he would still have been recognised, adored and, if my pinings for 10 are anything to go by, very sorely missed. Thus, Moffett would have soaked up all this admiration as a babe, and must have ate, slept and drank Doctor Who (no sexual connotations intended) for a fair few years. When you're that small, your pa's your hero, and if he's played an onscreen hero with two hearts for four years, worshipped by the masses (and David Tennant), then that feelings only gonna escalate. Who hasn't imagined/wished that Superman, Spiderman, Batman or whoever else-man was their dad? Moffett didn't need to imagne; her dad was, and still is by many, regarded as a legend.
For 23 years, Moffett was full of admiration for her father, The Doctor, and basked in his shiny limelight. Then in 2007 she acquired the perfect role, as The Doctor's daughter (typecasting or what?) in the imaginatively named episode, The Doctor's Daughter. Without going into the intricacies of the plot, the 10th Doctor initially pushes Jenny (Moffett) away, as he is scared to get too close in case he loses her; like he loses everyone else. However, he eventually warms to her - who knew how much - and accepts her as his own.
Right, recap time. Georgia Moffett is the daughter of the much-loved fifth Time Lord Peter Davson, and probably grew up watching endless repeats of Doctor Who, rather that the usual CBeebies, and playing with her dad's sonic screwdriver - sorry, that just sounds so wrong. She made her appearance on Doctor Who with this legacy behind her, and an innate passion for the show, and for the heroic, protective father-figure of The Doctor, who ultimately must connote feelings of security and love. Meanwhile, David Tennant, who is known to have been completely obsessed with Who since he was a wee lad, and who has based his look and performance on that of Davison, not only got to work alongside his idol in the TARDIS, but now gets the chance to work with his daughter.
The way I see it is this: Tennant loves Davison, and is honoured to work with his daughter Moffett, playing her father whom he worships. Moffett loves Davison (natch), and so automatically loves The Doctor. Moffett and Tennant both love Doctor Who, The Doctor and Davison, and I think this is what their relationship is based on. Moffett sees Tennant as like another father, helped by the fact that he is 13 years older than her. She is in love with The Doctor; with the idea of this wiser, older man looking out for her. I do believe that Moffett loves Tennant, but not in that way, rather, she loves him for what he represents; The Doctor. Her dad.
While there is arguably a certain amount of sexual attraction on Tennant's part; he has a history of liking younger women, particularly blondes *adds peroxide to shopping list*, he sees Moffett as like an extension of Davison. Tennant respects Davison to the upmost degree, and is obviously gonna project this loyalty onto Moffett, a) so as to gain mutual respect from daddy, and b) maybe because he feels he owes Davison; he did pinch bits of his act after all.
Basically then, I don't believe that Tennant and Moffett are in love with each other, but with what each other signifies. And that, my friends, is how I see it. See? Course, I could be completely wrong; maybe I've become a sceptical old bint at the grand age of 24... But I Am Not Bitter.
BW xxx
24/12/2010
Talking Talking Happy Talk
I'm baaaa-aaaaack, did yer miss me?? No? Oh, right then... Well I've missed blogging for sure. Feel a bit like a neglectful parent but, to be honest, I've had some pretty legit reasons for my absence. Yeahhhh, so haven't had such a good time of it of late, what with one thing and another. Obviously there's been all the stress of Uni, which I won't go over again, see my earlier post Depressions of a Mad Wolf for details. But I'm delighted to announce that I'm on top of it, in fact more than on top of it; I've climbed the mountain and am casually lazing on the other side, enjoying a crafty fag and appreciating the smaller things in life, like puppies and raindrops. Well not quite, I don't smoke, but you get the picture. I've finished all three of my essays in plenty of time for Christmas, and am now officially on holiday. Phew, thank Crunchie for that.
I still don't quite know what happened back there, why I had such a meltdown, and although I'm feeling really good at the moment (haven't cried for 9 days, record!), I'm worried it will happen again. I mean, it was only 13,000 words, and I had enough time to do it, so why all the fuss? Pffffffft, I really dunno. I think the pressure just got too much, and I literally boiled over. There's also been some long-standing family stuff going on, which I can't really go into now. I mean, I want to, think it would be quite cathartic actually, but a couple of close friends read this blog, and I don't wanna say stuff on here without talking to them first. So let's just say that some old crap got dragged up again, and it didn't help.
Talking of talking, I have actually talked to somebody about the aforementioned crap, namely the brilliant and wise beyond her years, VW. I'm not normally very good at offloading, it's like Donna (Catherine Tate) said to the Doctor once: 'you talk all the time but you don't say anything'. Yep, that about sums me up too. I'm a great listener, and can talk for England, or any other country for that matter, but when it comes to sharing my emotional stuff, I'm harder to break than the Da Vinci code. Dunno why, always have been. Hate crying in front of people for a start, am even less attractive crying than normal, and I am a crier, so 'fraid one goes hand in hand with the other.
Anyway, so I talked to VW, and told her things that I've not told anyone before, which was really hard. Really hard. I didn't cry though. Progress. She gave me some advice, but mainly it was good to have someone to listen. One of her gems of wisdom was to talk more, and she's right, so I will. I'm even signed up for a mentoring session at Uni on the 26th of Jan. Apparently 'mentoring' is like counselling but different as you get support with study skills etc. Maybe it's what I need. What with the home stuff and Uni and everything, it probably would be good to talk. Think that's why I like blogging, it's kinda like therapy. Only rather one-way... Didn't even have any counselling after The Event, which I probably should've done, as even now I can't think about it without going all cringey.
I'm hoping that 2011 will see a much calmer, less tearful, happy wolf. 2010 wasn't a bad year on the whole, in fact it was frickin' great! Apart from the last couple months... Oh, and last New Year's Day... When The Doctor regenerated? Duhhhhh. Highlights of 2010 then, I graduated; one of the best moments of my life, and got accepted onto the MA; which a few years ago I never would've seen happening. I had the best birthday that I've had in a very long time, which lasted a week, and involved some amazing friends and relatively little alcohol. I celebrated living in my home for a year, which was very special for me and my mother on a personal level; new beginnings and all that. And I've developed a very close, stronger than super glue, bond with VW (God help her), who has really helped boost my confidence and, like I say, just been the rock I needed, showing me that it really is ok to share stuff. Even if it involves the waterworks I guess. Even her Christmas card, which she bought round today, made me well up (in a good way); she said that I was amazing, and not to forget it. Of course, she's right. She told me off today too, for working too hard. Of course, she's right.
So gonna try and be positive about the forthcoming year. Yes I've still got another term and a 20,000 word dissertation to get through, but I'll have the mentoring support (providing I ask for it). Yes my family are still gonna drive me insane, but they're my family, and I gotta stick by 'em... Some of them anyway. If I don't who will? No one else would have them. And I've still got my friends, some of whom are probably gonna hear a lot more from me in the very near future. Poor buggers. In fact, run you people that know me, run faaaaarrrrr away!
Merry Christmas everyone, and have an awesome New Year,
BW xxx
PS, I've deliberately avoided mentioning until now the fact that, for the first Christmas in five years, David Tennant won't be The Doctor. It's just too gruesome a thought, as a certain Ms Golightly would say (RIP Blake Edwards). It will be a strange and sad Christmas evening, without David Tennant lighting up my bedroom - what? I watch Doctor Who in bed, what on earth did you think I meant? You disgusting lot.
PPS, in case I don't get chance to blog again before New Year, here are my resolutions:
To be a nicer, more supportive, daughter.
To blog more, I know I've been pretty slack lately.
To say that I need help/support/a chat/a blub as soon as I need it, not several weeks later. I don't ever wanna feel like that again.
To be happy.
I still don't quite know what happened back there, why I had such a meltdown, and although I'm feeling really good at the moment (haven't cried for 9 days, record!), I'm worried it will happen again. I mean, it was only 13,000 words, and I had enough time to do it, so why all the fuss? Pffffffft, I really dunno. I think the pressure just got too much, and I literally boiled over. There's also been some long-standing family stuff going on, which I can't really go into now. I mean, I want to, think it would be quite cathartic actually, but a couple of close friends read this blog, and I don't wanna say stuff on here without talking to them first. So let's just say that some old crap got dragged up again, and it didn't help.
Talking of talking, I have actually talked to somebody about the aforementioned crap, namely the brilliant and wise beyond her years, VW. I'm not normally very good at offloading, it's like Donna (Catherine Tate) said to the Doctor once: 'you talk all the time but you don't say anything'. Yep, that about sums me up too. I'm a great listener, and can talk for England, or any other country for that matter, but when it comes to sharing my emotional stuff, I'm harder to break than the Da Vinci code. Dunno why, always have been. Hate crying in front of people for a start, am even less attractive crying than normal, and I am a crier, so 'fraid one goes hand in hand with the other.
Anyway, so I talked to VW, and told her things that I've not told anyone before, which was really hard. Really hard. I didn't cry though. Progress. She gave me some advice, but mainly it was good to have someone to listen. One of her gems of wisdom was to talk more, and she's right, so I will. I'm even signed up for a mentoring session at Uni on the 26th of Jan. Apparently 'mentoring' is like counselling but different as you get support with study skills etc. Maybe it's what I need. What with the home stuff and Uni and everything, it probably would be good to talk. Think that's why I like blogging, it's kinda like therapy. Only rather one-way... Didn't even have any counselling after The Event, which I probably should've done, as even now I can't think about it without going all cringey.
I'm hoping that 2011 will see a much calmer, less tearful, happy wolf. 2010 wasn't a bad year on the whole, in fact it was frickin' great! Apart from the last couple months... Oh, and last New Year's Day... When The Doctor regenerated? Duhhhhh. Highlights of 2010 then, I graduated; one of the best moments of my life, and got accepted onto the MA; which a few years ago I never would've seen happening. I had the best birthday that I've had in a very long time, which lasted a week, and involved some amazing friends and relatively little alcohol. I celebrated living in my home for a year, which was very special for me and my mother on a personal level; new beginnings and all that. And I've developed a very close, stronger than super glue, bond with VW (God help her), who has really helped boost my confidence and, like I say, just been the rock I needed, showing me that it really is ok to share stuff. Even if it involves the waterworks I guess. Even her Christmas card, which she bought round today, made me well up (in a good way); she said that I was amazing, and not to forget it. Of course, she's right. She told me off today too, for working too hard. Of course, she's right.
So gonna try and be positive about the forthcoming year. Yes I've still got another term and a 20,000 word dissertation to get through, but I'll have the mentoring support (providing I ask for it). Yes my family are still gonna drive me insane, but they're my family, and I gotta stick by 'em... Some of them anyway. If I don't who will? No one else would have them. And I've still got my friends, some of whom are probably gonna hear a lot more from me in the very near future. Poor buggers. In fact, run you people that know me, run faaaaarrrrr away!
Merry Christmas everyone, and have an awesome New Year,
BW xxx
PS, I've deliberately avoided mentioning until now the fact that, for the first Christmas in five years, David Tennant won't be The Doctor. It's just too gruesome a thought, as a certain Ms Golightly would say (RIP Blake Edwards). It will be a strange and sad Christmas evening, without David Tennant lighting up my bedroom - what? I watch Doctor Who in bed, what on earth did you think I meant? You disgusting lot.
PPS, in case I don't get chance to blog again before New Year, here are my resolutions:
To be a nicer, more supportive, daughter.
To blog more, I know I've been pretty slack lately.
To say that I need help/support/a chat/a blub as soon as I need it, not several weeks later. I don't ever wanna feel like that again.
To be happy.
13/12/2010
Who's Top Companion? Er, Rose is!
Check out my comment on the Radio Times' poll of best Doctor Who companions:
http://www.radiotimes.com/blogs/1103-doctor-who-billie-piper-rose-tyler-voted-best-companion/
I will blog properly soon. Promise.
BW xxx
http://www.radiotimes.com/blogs/1103-doctor-who-billie-piper-rose-tyler-voted-best-companion/
I will blog properly soon. Promise.
BW xxx
11/11/2010
Top Blokes
I'm in a really bad mood. Dunno why, just woke up like it. I'm not particularly stressed; I mean I've got a bit of work to do, but nothing unmanageable; and nothing majorly crappy has happened. I can't even blame the old whipping boy that is PMT - unless the 'P' can stand for post? I just feel shit. Maybe I'm tired, I find Uni pretty hard-going sometimes, especially Wednesdays; which just go on forever. Just feel like having a bloody good cry actually, but instead I'm gonna try and cheer myself up by blogging about gorgeous men... then I'll have that cry.
Über shallow I know, but here is a Top of The Pops-style rundown of the 5 hottest blokes in the Universe, in my humble opinion:
Über shallow I know, but here is a Top of The Pops-style rundown of the 5 hottest blokes in the Universe, in my humble opinion:
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| #1 - David Tennant - Sex. On. Legs. I am so in love with this man, I don't quite know what to do with myself. He first came to my attention as The Doctor - before that I'd ashamedly never heard of him before - but I quite happily fancy him in all guises; even as the rather camp Ghost of Christmas Present, in Catherine Tate's Nan's Christmas Carol (Anderson, 2009). It's not just looking at him either; his voice has the same cataclysmic effect. Whenever I hear that gorgeous Scottish timbre, I get this massive cheesy grin on my face, go all giggley, and my heartbeat increases by, like, a thousand BPM. Surely that's love, right? He is literally in a universe of his own, and anyone else I claim to be attracted to, comes a very distant runner-up. Oh, and he's a phenomenally brilliant actor too. |
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| #2 - Johnny Depp. Yes, I know basically anybody with eyes and a pulse fancies The Depp, but I'm sorry, when someone is that pretty I just gotta go with the flow. Also, he makes a damn fine pirate! It feels very wrong to find mucky old Captain Jack Sparrow attractive, but I can't help it; think it's the eyes. |
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| #3 - Tom Hardy. The actor, not writer, no idea what he looked like, but he did write some great books... Anyway, Tom Hardy; he isn't my usual 'type', kinda rough and rugged, bit of a bad boy, but HOT. |
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| #4 - John Barrowman. Very gay: check. Slight look of Tom Cruise: check (and immediately moving on), but still; he looks great in a military jacket, as evidenced in his portrayal of Torchwood's Captain Jack Harkness. Oooo, another Captain Jack, I see a pattern emerging... albeit a very short one, he was the last. |
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| #5 - Richard Armitage. Now I don't really follow him as an actor per se. I mean, I don't watch Spooks, or Robin Hood (who did?), but I think he is very very pretty, and has The Sexiest voice EVER (after David of course). |
That's that then... well sort of. The above Top 5 are just that, but I also wanna pay a brief homage to the following select few who unfortunately didn't make the shortlist. Well-played boys, well-played:
Joseph Fiennes - by name and nature. Particularly fine as Agent Benford in Flash Forward.
Jason Merrells - how happy am I that he's now in Emmerdale?
Jenson Button - such a shame that whenever he's on tv, he wears a silly helmet, and drives what can only be described as a Meccano car repeatedly around a track, yawn. He should get a proper job, like a tv news-reader, or naked model...
Christopher Eccleston - don't like him quite as much as I used to, but in that battered old leather jacket, with that accent; I wouldn't say no.
Aidan Turner - Being Human's Irish vampire, need I say more??
David Boreanaz - another David, and another vampire, this time Angel from Buffy The Vampire Slayer. He went through a brief fat and hairy stage after Buffy (see Dido's White Flag vid), but I believe normal hotness has been resumed.
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Dark Handsome Stranger - he's studying for a PhD (a Doctorate, you mucky lot), and often sits in on one of my modules. Soooooooo lush, kinda like a young David Duchovny - whom I use to fancy, before he became a hairy 'sex addict' - AND he always sits opposite me (DHS, not Duchovny *shudders*.
South - one of my lecturers. Not typically 'good-looking' I suppose; kinda nerdy, which is a real turn on for me. Seems to have subscribed to the same school of fashion as the 10th Time Lord - suit/trainers *swoon*. Plus, he wears those black thick-rimmed glasses that Tennant made so ultra-sexy *double swoon*. God, maybe I'm more attracted to a 'look' rather than real actual people... *Thinks about Tennant and South without clothes*... Nahhhhh.
South - one of my lecturers. Not typically 'good-looking' I suppose; kinda nerdy, which is a real turn on for me. Seems to have subscribed to the same school of fashion as the 10th Time Lord - suit/trainers *swoon*. Plus, he wears those black thick-rimmed glasses that Tennant made so ultra-sexy *double swoon*. God, maybe I'm more attracted to a 'look' rather than real actual people... *Thinks about Tennant and South without clothes*... Nahhhhh.
Gok Wan - possibly a guilty pleasure (like Pot Noodle sandwhiches - don't knock till you've tried), but I find him really sexy! Love what he does in How To Look Good Naked too, though Legend doesn't. She says that, from a feminist perspective, making women believe that they need nice clothes in order to feel good about themselves is crap, and the whole getting naked ethos is just another form of objectification and voyeurism. But, as much as I respect Ledge, and bow to her superior wisdom; I disagree! The way I see it is that, yes Gok uses clothing to build up confidence, but by making women strutt their stuff in the buff, he's saying that we don't need all that clobber to look (and feel great); we can get the same sensation in our own skin. The fact that he often chooses people that aren't typically regarded in society as 'attractive'; disabled, disfigured, black, homosexual or larger women (and the occasional man) suggests that we're all in the same boat, and shoud be viewed equally; screw convention. He's made me cry too, and if a bloke makes me cry I generally end up falling in love with them. How fucked up am I?
Right, that's it then, gonna go put Doctor Who on Youtube now, and have that long-awaited cry. Though I do feel a tadge better, thinking about all these men. Not that fancying someone is ever gonna get me anywhere; it hasn't done so yet. Maybe I should just give up and be a nun. *Sigh*, come on then David, regenerate, again...
BW xxx
PS, song of the day: Sexy Boy by Air.
09/11/2010
The Event
Noooo, not Channel 4's new 'thriller', which I've successfully avoided so far, due to a) forgetting to watch the first ep, b) not having time to catch-up with the first ep and c), being so disappointed with Flash Forward's 'finale' that I just didn't wanna put myself through such trauma again. So, by The Event, I mean something far more personal; something that I've already alluded to a couple times in this blog; and something that, hopefully, will give you an even greater insight into the scary realms of ME.
On 11 October 2004, at approximately 10:10am, I was thrown out of my wheelchair onto the floor of a taxi, breaking both arms and legs.
Up until this point, I was a pretty average student, I stayed in education until I was 18, got my A-levels, and intended to go to university. I had applied to two, to study either Journalism or Film; with the latter being my preferred choice. However, I guess I didn't work as hard as I should have done at college, and didn't take it seriously enough - does anyone at that age? - so ended up not achieving good enough grades to get onto the Film degree. Therefore, I had to settle for my second choice of Journalism, which was further away from my home, and it was arranged that I would travel by County Council-provided taxi, in order to give me some more independence (ha ha). Normally, I would travel in my mother's car, sitting in a child's car seat, and then be transferred by her into my wheelchair at the other end , but because I was doing this journey on my own, transferring would not have been possible, so I had to actually make the journey in my wheelchair.
Survived the first trip to and from Uni on October 4th relatively unscathed though, looking back, I didn't feel 100% safe even then, but thought this was just me being a 'fraidy cat' (dog?), and was determined to carry on; hoping I'd just get used to it. This bravado was dramatically short-lived, and one week later, about 20 minutes away from my first lecture The Event, which still affects my life even now, occurred.
I still don't know what happened exactly, all I know for sure is that the driver braked suddenly, and I was thrown forward, landing on the taxi floor. The first thing I remember (vividly) is hearing someone screaming, and then realising it was me. I never believed that phenomenon, often clichéd in books and films, was possible; not being aware of a sound that your own body is making. But trust me, it's possible. It's kinda like your mind is frozen in time for a split-second, while the rest of you, and the rest of the world, goes on.
I don't think I ever lost consciousness, though I really wish I had as, when I 'came to', I was aware of the worst pain imaginable. They say that, for a woman, childbirth is the worst pain you can feel, but I'd beg to differ. Have never been in labour, but would've quite happily given vaginal birth to octuplets (if that was humanly possible), than be in the agony I was in then. Even thinking about it now, 6 years later, I stil feel realy sick and tense - like when you're in the same room as a bunch of balloons and you KNOW one of them's gonna burst - only 10 billion times worse, so I do try not to think about it too much; it's hard though. I also try not to get too close to balloons...
I wouldn't wish the above experience on my worst enemy, not even Jude Law, though sometimes I could just slap him... Anyway, I digress. Was taken to hospital by air ambulance - now get really freaked out by low-flying helicopters; seriously, I'm a frigging nutter - and promptly (well, several hours later) got sent home. There wasn't a lot that could be done for me, as putting me into plaster would only do more damage, due to the weight. So to bed I went, which is where I remained for pretty much the rest of the year. During my recovery I continued studying, using voice recognition software to dictate my coursework, and somehow managed to get a 2:1 for my first year. But, while I was pretty much fully recovered (physically at least) by January 2005, my confidence was completely trashed, and I gave up the course.
For a good few months I was at a complete loss as to what to do with my life; had no future plans; no aspirations and, most significantly, no confidence. But then I met a man called The Doctor...
As I've said before, Doctor Who gave me something to look forward too, and acted as a form of escapism; anything, quite frankly, would have been an improvement on my current situation, but a life in the TARDIS, travelling endlessly through time and space with a handsome stranger? Errr, yes please. That's why I can so emphasise with Rose Tyler, and Billie Piper (albeit a younger model); me and Rose were the same age, both stuck in a rut, bored with life, no real future etc etc. We trusted the Doctor, and fell in love with him, in our own way, and I can't help feeling that having Doctor Who to look forward to every week kept me going. Billie, on the other hand, inspired me in a totally different to Rose, as she's also come pretty darn close to pegging it; in her case as a result of a serious eating disorder - which I'm very unlikely to suffer from; too darn greedy, too many little pigs and children in red coats etc.
Seriously though, I'd grown up listening to Billie-Because-We-Want-To-Piper's music (still do fyi, shut up you), and having a shared experience (sort of) with somebody, particularly someone so close in age, really helped me. Ok maybe I sound like BP's official stalker, but the fact that she so brilliantly put her life back together inspired me to do the same, and I did.
In October 2005, one year after the Universe collapsed around me, I got a place at my local college, where I stayed for two years, gradually re-building my confidence (and my academic skills), before finally starting the Film degree that I'd failed to get onto all those years ago. I graduated with a 2:1 this July just gone - perhaps one of the best days of my life - and the rest, as they say, is history. Kinda...
October 11, 2004 was definately the worst day of my life, but it became the best thing that ever happend to me. Yes, I'm a more nervous passenger than I was before - though, I have improved; no more panic attacks - bonus. Yes, I am a bit freaked out by helicopters, and no, sometimes I'm not as confident in myself as I could be. But, as a result of th accident I've made some amazing friends, have a degree in Film at one of the top Unis, and am pursuing a Masters. I can also now, quite happily, travel in a car in my wheelchair (not The Chair, that got sent to the knacker's yard). Ok so the car is generally driven by my mother, but I have also pulled myself together enough now to allow my enabler, and very good friend VW, to take me out and about. Though, frankly, if I'd made her sit at home with me any longer, I think she woulda dragged me out by my tail anyway. That's why I love her!
Everything happens for a reason. Any regets? Sing it Piaf.
BW xxx
On 11 October 2004, at approximately 10:10am, I was thrown out of my wheelchair onto the floor of a taxi, breaking both arms and legs.
Up until this point, I was a pretty average student, I stayed in education until I was 18, got my A-levels, and intended to go to university. I had applied to two, to study either Journalism or Film; with the latter being my preferred choice. However, I guess I didn't work as hard as I should have done at college, and didn't take it seriously enough - does anyone at that age? - so ended up not achieving good enough grades to get onto the Film degree. Therefore, I had to settle for my second choice of Journalism, which was further away from my home, and it was arranged that I would travel by County Council-provided taxi, in order to give me some more independence (ha ha). Normally, I would travel in my mother's car, sitting in a child's car seat, and then be transferred by her into my wheelchair at the other end , but because I was doing this journey on my own, transferring would not have been possible, so I had to actually make the journey in my wheelchair.
Survived the first trip to and from Uni on October 4th relatively unscathed though, looking back, I didn't feel 100% safe even then, but thought this was just me being a 'fraidy cat' (dog?), and was determined to carry on; hoping I'd just get used to it. This bravado was dramatically short-lived, and one week later, about 20 minutes away from my first lecture The Event, which still affects my life even now, occurred.
I still don't know what happened exactly, all I know for sure is that the driver braked suddenly, and I was thrown forward, landing on the taxi floor. The first thing I remember (vividly) is hearing someone screaming, and then realising it was me. I never believed that phenomenon, often clichéd in books and films, was possible; not being aware of a sound that your own body is making. But trust me, it's possible. It's kinda like your mind is frozen in time for a split-second, while the rest of you, and the rest of the world, goes on.
I don't think I ever lost consciousness, though I really wish I had as, when I 'came to', I was aware of the worst pain imaginable. They say that, for a woman, childbirth is the worst pain you can feel, but I'd beg to differ. Have never been in labour, but would've quite happily given vaginal birth to octuplets (if that was humanly possible), than be in the agony I was in then. Even thinking about it now, 6 years later, I stil feel realy sick and tense - like when you're in the same room as a bunch of balloons and you KNOW one of them's gonna burst - only 10 billion times worse, so I do try not to think about it too much; it's hard though. I also try not to get too close to balloons...
I wouldn't wish the above experience on my worst enemy, not even Jude Law, though sometimes I could just slap him... Anyway, I digress. Was taken to hospital by air ambulance - now get really freaked out by low-flying helicopters; seriously, I'm a frigging nutter - and promptly (well, several hours later) got sent home. There wasn't a lot that could be done for me, as putting me into plaster would only do more damage, due to the weight. So to bed I went, which is where I remained for pretty much the rest of the year. During my recovery I continued studying, using voice recognition software to dictate my coursework, and somehow managed to get a 2:1 for my first year. But, while I was pretty much fully recovered (physically at least) by January 2005, my confidence was completely trashed, and I gave up the course.
For a good few months I was at a complete loss as to what to do with my life; had no future plans; no aspirations and, most significantly, no confidence. But then I met a man called The Doctor...
As I've said before, Doctor Who gave me something to look forward too, and acted as a form of escapism; anything, quite frankly, would have been an improvement on my current situation, but a life in the TARDIS, travelling endlessly through time and space with a handsome stranger? Errr, yes please. That's why I can so emphasise with Rose Tyler, and Billie Piper (albeit a younger model); me and Rose were the same age, both stuck in a rut, bored with life, no real future etc etc. We trusted the Doctor, and fell in love with him, in our own way, and I can't help feeling that having Doctor Who to look forward to every week kept me going. Billie, on the other hand, inspired me in a totally different to Rose, as she's also come pretty darn close to pegging it; in her case as a result of a serious eating disorder - which I'm very unlikely to suffer from; too darn greedy, too many little pigs and children in red coats etc.
Seriously though, I'd grown up listening to Billie-Because-We-Want-To-Piper's music (still do fyi, shut up you), and having a shared experience (sort of) with somebody, particularly someone so close in age, really helped me. Ok maybe I sound like BP's official stalker, but the fact that she so brilliantly put her life back together inspired me to do the same, and I did.
In October 2005, one year after the Universe collapsed around me, I got a place at my local college, where I stayed for two years, gradually re-building my confidence (and my academic skills), before finally starting the Film degree that I'd failed to get onto all those years ago. I graduated with a 2:1 this July just gone - perhaps one of the best days of my life - and the rest, as they say, is history. Kinda...
October 11, 2004 was definately the worst day of my life, but it became the best thing that ever happend to me. Yes, I'm a more nervous passenger than I was before - though, I have improved; no more panic attacks - bonus. Yes, I am a bit freaked out by helicopters, and no, sometimes I'm not as confident in myself as I could be. But, as a result of th accident I've made some amazing friends, have a degree in Film at one of the top Unis, and am pursuing a Masters. I can also now, quite happily, travel in a car in my wheelchair (not The Chair, that got sent to the knacker's yard). Ok so the car is generally driven by my mother, but I have also pulled myself together enough now to allow my enabler, and very good friend VW, to take me out and about. Though, frankly, if I'd made her sit at home with me any longer, I think she woulda dragged me out by my tail anyway. That's why I love her!
Everything happens for a reason. Any regets? Sing it Piaf.
BW xxx
06/11/2010
Who is 'The Bad Wolf'?
I am the Bad Wolf.
I create myself.
I take the words; I scatter them, in time and space.
A message to lead myself here.
So, we've established that I am The Bad Wolf, but just where did this rather odd moniker come from, I hear you cry? Well, sit still and I shall tell thee...
Two words: Doctor Who. I was (and please note the italics) completely obssessed with Who when it was reinvented back in 2005. I was going through a pretty rough patch (which I'll save for another time) and, quite frankly, Doctor Who gave me something to focus on; a form of escapism; something to live for even.
On 26 March 2005, The Doctor, played by the brilliantly sexy Christopher Eccleston, turned up in his little blue box, and saved a bored young girl, who believed she had no future, and dreamt of a life beyond the one in which she was currently existing. That girl was Rose Tyler (Billie Piper). That girl was me.
There are many similarities between myself, Rose Tyler and Billie Piper, but I won't digress into those now. The fact is, that while Rose travelled through time and space with The Doctor, the words 'Bad Wolf' constantly hounded them (pun definately intented), until the final episode of Series One, Parting of The Ways, when the truth behind this cryptic clue was revealed.
5 billion years in our future, the Doctor faced certain death at the hands (?) of his oldest enemy; the Daleks - hence why I questioned the use of the word 'hands', maybe plunger or whisk would be more appropriate. Anyway, rather than risk Rose's life, he tricks her into entering the TARDIS, and sends her back home. She's having none of it, and opens the 'heart' of the TARDIS in order to absorb the Time Vortex, and uses this power to return to The Doctor; which apparently is a very dangerous thing to do, so don't go trying ths at home kids.
Rose gets back to the future, saves The Doctor, and vapourises the Daleks (you go girl), and it is here that the meaning of 'Bad Wolf' is explained. Rose Tyler is The Bad Wolf. She delivers the monologue at the top of this post, stating that the power she's absorbed from the TARDIS has allowed her to spread the words back through time and space, as a path for her to follow.
So where do I come in? Well, I'm a big believer in fate - haven't always been so, but something happened to me, a long time ago now, that ever since has completely shaped my life. More on this at a later date, but it was this event that I was still getting over on the 26 March 2005, and the whole 'Bad Wolf' ethos really made sense to me; everything happens for a reason, you can't change the past (thank you Simba), but you can learn from it (and thank you Rafiki).
I now regularly use the words 'Bad Wolf' as an identity; from my mobile's bluetooth, the name of my ipod and, of course, my blogging pseudonym. Weird obssession? Maybe. But being The Bad Wolf reminds me why I am where I am, as well as allowing me to (ironically) be myself. If I wrote this blog under my real name, I'd struggle to be 100% honest, as I'm one of those people that, if asked how I am, 9 times out of 10 I say 'fine thanks, you?', when really I'll feel like shit, or I'm suffering from raging pmt, or I'm stressed up to my eyeballs, or I just wanna have a bloody good cry please, and so on.
I am The Bad Wolf, and I can create myself - not a fictitious version of me, but the real me; free from the constraints of the name I was given at birth, by someone else, who had their own ideas on how I should live my life. The words I take, and scatter in time and space are the very words I'm typing now which, thanks to the wonder of the Internet, can be read anywhere across the globe (providing there's a decent IP available), and can (unless this blog is forcibly evicted from www-land) be read now, in the present; later, in the future; or, if I publish this now (Saturday pm), and return on say, Tuesday, you dear reader (are you there?), may well have read it yesterday, in the past. The words lead me here, to this blog, where the cycle starts all over again; which is rather convenient isn't it? I like a nice tidy ending; ambiguity is equivalent to laziness, imho.
Really, I suppose all bloggers are 'Bad Wolves', in that we're all trying to create an identity for oursevles, and share it with the rest of the world via the Web. But I am The Bad Wolf, and don't you forget it, lest I hunt you down, and give you a swift nip. My bite is defo worse than my bark...
BW xxx
PS, Bad Wolf Bay was where, at the end of Series Two, Rose and The Doctor (by now played by the love of my life, David Tennant) had to say goodbye, after the silly girl got herself trapped in a parallel universe. With The Doctor on this side, and Rose on the other, the walls between universes were closing, and the last gap left through which they could speak was in Norway's Dårlig Ulv-Stranden - otherwise known as... So I though it be an appropriate title for my blog; this is where I'm supposed to be. Also, friend and Film lecturer Legend, cites the beach as a place of grief and loss, while I reckon the sea totally signifies wiping the slate clean, and starting again; so verrrrrrry relevant then.
PPS, the song in my head today; Missing You by The Saturdays.
I create myself.
I take the words; I scatter them, in time and space.
A message to lead myself here.
So, we've established that I am The Bad Wolf, but just where did this rather odd moniker come from, I hear you cry? Well, sit still and I shall tell thee...
Two words: Doctor Who. I was (and please note the italics) completely obssessed with Who when it was reinvented back in 2005. I was going through a pretty rough patch (which I'll save for another time) and, quite frankly, Doctor Who gave me something to focus on; a form of escapism; something to live for even.
On 26 March 2005, The Doctor, played by the brilliantly sexy Christopher Eccleston, turned up in his little blue box, and saved a bored young girl, who believed she had no future, and dreamt of a life beyond the one in which she was currently existing. That girl was Rose Tyler (Billie Piper). That girl was me.
There are many similarities between myself, Rose Tyler and Billie Piper, but I won't digress into those now. The fact is, that while Rose travelled through time and space with The Doctor, the words 'Bad Wolf' constantly hounded them (pun definately intented), until the final episode of Series One, Parting of The Ways, when the truth behind this cryptic clue was revealed.
5 billion years in our future, the Doctor faced certain death at the hands (?) of his oldest enemy; the Daleks - hence why I questioned the use of the word 'hands', maybe plunger or whisk would be more appropriate. Anyway, rather than risk Rose's life, he tricks her into entering the TARDIS, and sends her back home. She's having none of it, and opens the 'heart' of the TARDIS in order to absorb the Time Vortex, and uses this power to return to The Doctor; which apparently is a very dangerous thing to do, so don't go trying ths at home kids.
Rose gets back to the future, saves The Doctor, and vapourises the Daleks (you go girl), and it is here that the meaning of 'Bad Wolf' is explained. Rose Tyler is The Bad Wolf. She delivers the monologue at the top of this post, stating that the power she's absorbed from the TARDIS has allowed her to spread the words back through time and space, as a path for her to follow.
So where do I come in? Well, I'm a big believer in fate - haven't always been so, but something happened to me, a long time ago now, that ever since has completely shaped my life. More on this at a later date, but it was this event that I was still getting over on the 26 March 2005, and the whole 'Bad Wolf' ethos really made sense to me; everything happens for a reason, you can't change the past (thank you Simba), but you can learn from it (and thank you Rafiki).
I now regularly use the words 'Bad Wolf' as an identity; from my mobile's bluetooth, the name of my ipod and, of course, my blogging pseudonym. Weird obssession? Maybe. But being The Bad Wolf reminds me why I am where I am, as well as allowing me to (ironically) be myself. If I wrote this blog under my real name, I'd struggle to be 100% honest, as I'm one of those people that, if asked how I am, 9 times out of 10 I say 'fine thanks, you?', when really I'll feel like shit, or I'm suffering from raging pmt, or I'm stressed up to my eyeballs, or I just wanna have a bloody good cry please, and so on.
I am The Bad Wolf, and I can create myself - not a fictitious version of me, but the real me; free from the constraints of the name I was given at birth, by someone else, who had their own ideas on how I should live my life. The words I take, and scatter in time and space are the very words I'm typing now which, thanks to the wonder of the Internet, can be read anywhere across the globe (providing there's a decent IP available), and can (unless this blog is forcibly evicted from www-land) be read now, in the present; later, in the future; or, if I publish this now (Saturday pm), and return on say, Tuesday, you dear reader (are you there?), may well have read it yesterday, in the past. The words lead me here, to this blog, where the cycle starts all over again; which is rather convenient isn't it? I like a nice tidy ending; ambiguity is equivalent to laziness, imho.
Really, I suppose all bloggers are 'Bad Wolves', in that we're all trying to create an identity for oursevles, and share it with the rest of the world via the Web. But I am The Bad Wolf, and don't you forget it, lest I hunt you down, and give you a swift nip. My bite is defo worse than my bark...
BW xxx
PS, Bad Wolf Bay was where, at the end of Series Two, Rose and The Doctor (by now played by the love of my life, David Tennant) had to say goodbye, after the silly girl got herself trapped in a parallel universe. With The Doctor on this side, and Rose on the other, the walls between universes were closing, and the last gap left through which they could speak was in Norway's Dårlig Ulv-Stranden - otherwise known as... So I though it be an appropriate title for my blog; this is where I'm supposed to be. Also, friend and Film lecturer Legend, cites the beach as a place of grief and loss, while I reckon the sea totally signifies wiping the slate clean, and starting again; so verrrrrrry relevant then.
PPS, the song in my head today; Missing You by The Saturdays.
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